


Pacific Rimjob

by tisfan



Series: Open Ask Prompts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Drift Compatibility, Fingering, Frottage, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Smut, Stripping, Tony Stark Not Recommended, up against the wall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: WinterIron with drift compatible Bucky and Tony Pacific Rim Au? Steve thought for sure he and Bucky would be drift compatible, but that turned out like a nightmare. So it comes to a shock to all of them , that after seeing Bucky and Tony fight together in the ring Fury says they need to try to do the drift together. Please and thank you!
Combined with:Winter iron, all the smut please, Christmas morning, tony being rimmed :-)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dear 2nd Annon; sorry it’s not Christmas, but the pun title occurred and I don’t know that I’ll have the energy to write a second rim in the near future and didn’t want you to feel neglected. 
> 
> So, this is dirty as hell. As always, these prompts are only barely edited (mostly that means I read through it once to check and see if there were any glaring errors. )

 

_Shatterdome, Malibu California 2018_  

The sim shut down with a painful _whirr_ and Ranger-trainees Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes staggered out. Bucky clutched at his head, fell to his knees just outside the sim, and promptly vomited on the floor. He probably would have landed in the puddle of his own puke except Steve caught him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. 

“What happened?” Ops Leader, Peggy Carter, rushed over. She skidded to a halt before she stepped in the mess that Bucky had left on the cold concrete. 

“Bucky went down the rabbit hole again, ended up on the damn Cyclone from when we was kids,” Steve reported. It was hard not to hear the disappointment in Steve’s voice. They’d scored in the ninetieth percentile for drift match, but in the sims, they just couldn’t sync up. Or maybe they drifted too well. Bucky always found himself lost in the memories, floating there, until Steve recalled him. 

This sim, this last test, had been their last chance. 

They were cut from the training team. 

“‘M sorry, Steve,” Bucky managed, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. It hurt, God it hurt. Steve had never wanted anything more than he wanted to be a Jaeger pilot. When the first Kaiju appeared in early 2012, they were hardly more than kids, seventeen and eighteen. Within two years, drifting tests were being conducted in schools across the world. The younger a pilot could be discovered, the better they could be trained, but piloting a Jaeger was an adult’s work, no child could stand the trauma of being pinned into a Jaeger harness. 

Both Bucky and Steve had tested high, but it didn’t matter. 

If they couldn’t drift together, they couldn’t pilot. The training didn’t matter, the neural net didn’t matter. 

They didn’t drift _together_. 

“Marshall Fury wants to see you, Rogers,” Peggy said. 

“Yes, Ops.” Steve nodded to her. 

Peggy gave Bucky a sympathetic look, but didn’t say anything. He was a wash. There was nothing to do now but pack his gear and go home. Be a cit. Cower in the shelters when an attack came. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get work in one of the fabrication facilities, building, or repairing, the great defense units. 

He was halfway through packing his bag when Steve came back to the pod they shared. Bucky’s best friend, they’d known each other practically their whole lives, so Bucky knew -- without a doubt -- that there was news. And further knew that Steve didn’t want to share it. 

“What’d Fury want?” 

Steve chewed his lip. “Oh, pal, I…” The expression on Steve’s face was part joy, part open concern, part guilt. Astonishing, the facial gymnastics Steve had to go through in order to put his expression back in order to something resembling sympathy. 

“Spit it out,” Bucky said, turning back to his shirts, which he folded slowly and stashed in his duffle. He wondered how long the trip home would take; there weren’t as many aircraft as there used to be. Steel and alloys had become scarce overnight in the frantic race to build Jaegers faster than the Kaiju could tear them apart. Most commercial vehicles had been sacrificed to the greater good of humanity’s survival. 

“Fury wants me to stay,” Steve admitted. “There’s a new class of potentials coming in tomorrow. There’s a possibility of a drift compatible match in the new recruits.” 

“Oh, that’s great --” Bucky started, but was stopped by Steve holding up one hand. 

“Just me,” Steve said. 

Bucky supposed his face said everything that needed to be said, because Steve clapped him on the back, squeezing sympathetically. _What happened to you and me til the end of the line, Stevie?_ But he didn’t say that. He would never ruin Steve’s dream. “You’ll be great at it,” Bucky said. “I’ll be your biggest fan.” 

* * *

 

_Three days later_  

Bucky groaned. It was going to take another week before he could even leave, and he didn’t have a pod anymore, so he was sleeping in the corner of the hanger, using his duffle as a pillow and trying hard not to think of the new kid who was bunking down with Steve. 

“Attention Shatterdome.” Peggy Carter’s voice crackled over the intercom. “I would ask you all to take a moment of your time to congratulate our newest Jaeger pilots. Please welcome Ranger Steve Rogers and Ranger Sam Wilson to the ranks, and to give a warm send-off to our newest Jaeger, Avengers Assemble.” 

Cheers roared up from every corner of the building. 

And Bucky would have done anything to be happy for his friend, for Steve, for the man he’d grown up with and admired and… he just couldn’t. He scrambled to his feet and headed out of the hanger. The Shatterdome was offshore, but there were rocks and crannies that he could climb to get away, to look out over that war-torn horizon, to see the endless Pacific, and to escape. 

* * *

 

“Dr. Stark?” 

The guy on the rock looked up and Bucky could see why he’d made the mistake, but this guy was too young to be the Jaeger’s developer, Howard Stark. 

“Yes,” the guy said. Kid, even. If he was nineteen, Bucky would eat the candles on his last cake. “Well, no. Not the one you’re thinking of. My name’s Tony. Howard’s my dad.” 

“Oh. What are you doing out here?” 

“Failing miserably,” Tony said. “How ‘bout yourself?” 

“More of the same,” Bucky said, unable to help a smile from touching his lips. “Washed out?” 

“I’m ninety-six percent,” Tony said, banging his fist on the rock, then yelping in pain. “ _Ninety-six_. And we can’t find a damn co who can pilot with me? I’ve been tested at every fucking Shatterdome from here to Australia and no one matches up with me. It’s pathetic. I designed the damn things and I’m never going to be able to pilot one.” 

“You designed? I thought Stark Industries --” 

“Howard -- my dad -- we don’t get on so well. He bankrolls the project, but the arc-reactor power systems, the Iron Monger models, all me. Armor, weapons, shielding, communications, you name it, I’ve had my fingers in it. I’ve been designing Jaegers for combat since I was fourteen. Since before we even had Kaiju to _fight_. Of course, they were theoretical, back in the day. I built a couple of models, but nothing for production until San Francisco took a faceful of angry giant lizard. And then suddenly my stupid little time-wasting projects got all the attention.” 

“Yeah, that sucks,” Bucky said. He pulled up some rock and sat down next to Tony. “I washed out. My best friend, known the guy my whole life, we’re both ninetieth percentile, right. Share a lot of the same memories, we should be a natural match. Nope. That was him, what just got made pilot of the Avengers Assemble with some guy he just met _yesterday_. Tell me how that’s fuckin’ fair.” 

“It’s not,” Tony said. He glanced at Bucky. “I’ve got an idea, though. Why don’t you come back to SI with me? I could use someone who already knows the basics, help calibrate and stuff. I’m always working on the newer neural load balancing systems and having to borrow pilots, which they hate, because they’re all rock stars and when they’re not fighting, they want to be having sex and getting drunk. The science of it doesn’t interest them.” 

“Are you offering me a job?” 

“Yes,” Tony said. “You can be Igor to my Frankenstein.” 

“If you ever, ever walk around during a thunderstorm and yell ‘It’s alive,’ I will quit on the spot,” Bucky said. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

* * *

 

Working at SI might not have been as glamorous as being a Jaeger pilot, but it was pretty damn interesting. While the official title on Bucky’s paperwork was “Jaeger Production Specialist,” Tony called the job “flunky” or sometimes “minion” but to Bucky, it was more like “genius wrangling.”

In six months, Bucky learned more about how the Jaegers worked than he did in the two years of Ranger training. He learned how to rewire the neural load balancer on the fly during combat simulations and how to recycle the arc-reactor power generators. One particularly bad Kaiju attack and he’d actually run coms to the Shatterdome, talking the panicked pilots of Chromium Blue through a complete systems reboot after the Kaiju had knocked out their core processor. 

They practiced drift in Tony’s sim. They'd never quite made a match, but it wasn't like with Steve. Bucky had never fallen down the rabbit hole. He never lost himself to his memories, he was too busy enraptured with the brilliant kaleidoscope that was Tony's mind. When they were in the sim, he could see the lines that held the universe together. And it was beautiful. _Tony_ was beautiful. He was everything Bucky wanted and everything he couldn't have.

The other parts of his job included making sure Tony ate and drank more than once every two days, chased the crazy engineer into bed because without someone riding herd on him, Tony would stay up sixty hours straight and nearly kill himself when he forgot to secure the Jaeger’s headgear. After a Cat Three battle, with four Jaegers wiped out, Bucky’d had to actually take Tony to bed and keep his arms wrapped around the man all night because every time he thought Bucky wasn’t paying attention, he’d try to head back into the lab to speed up production.

Waking up that next morning, an armful of warm, sleepy Tony cuddled up to him, had been simultaneously the best and worst moment of Bucky’s life.

Because he’d looked down at Tony’s face, the long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, that sinful, sardonic mouth relaxed and realized that what he was feeling was _happy_. And happiness had always been such a fragile thing in his life that Bucky wasn’t sure what to do about it. All he wanted was for life to keep going, just the way it was. Or maybe, as his gaze traced the shape of Tony’s lip, maybe just a little bit more.

* * *

 

“You should do this more often,” Tony said, yawning, as he came into the kitchen the next morning. 

“Do what?” 

“Sleep,” Tony said. “With me. Together. I sleep better when you’re there.” 

_Nightmare_. How the hell was he supposed to do that, when all he wanted to do was kiss Tony stupid, to taste that skin, run his hands through Tony’s hair, and Tony was asking for him to play, what, the human version of a glass of warm milk? 

“I don’t think that would be very wise,” Bucky hedged. 

“Oh, come on, kitten, why not?” Tony batted his eyelashes outrageously. He often used the same technique to mooch off Bucky’s dessert after dinner, too. With astonishingly effective results. 

Of course Tony asked. He never could leave shit alone. He always had to poke and pry and question. “God damnit, Tony! We practice drift together! Why would you ask me that? I can't… you know I can't.” Drifting meant _honesty_ , it meant one hundred percent open, seeing everything a person was and thought and felt, utter and complete empathy and acceptance. If Bucky _lied_ … well, they'd never drift together. 

“I _know_ ,” Tony said. “I've seen your thoughts, felt what you feel. Just because you never say the words doesn't mean I don't know what I'm looking at.” 

“What?” 

“You think it's a mirror,” Tony went on, “you think you're just seeing yourself. But it's not. It's me. It's not an echo, Bucky. It's _me_.” 

“Of course it's you,” Bucky burst out. “it's been you since I met you!” 

“Do you know why we can't drift?” Tony asked, gently. He moved to touch Bucky's cheek like Bucky was a wild animal that was bound to run at the slightest sound.

“Tell me, you're the genius around here,” Bucky said.  He tried not to lean into that touch, but he was fighting a losing battle. Tony's hands on him, he swayed closer, aching with need. He wrenched his gaze up to meet the soft, warm brown of Tony's regard and suddenly had a name for it. _Desire_.

“We can’t drift because we’re putting what we feel behind walls,” Tony said. “You’re scared to admit it and I don’t feel like I deserve it. But it’s there, Bucky. We just have to let it out.” 

Tony was closer to him than he’d ever been before, mouth mere whispers away and Bucky was tired of pretending, tired of ignoring it, tired or denying it. He took that one, last movement, drew his hand up to the side of Tony’s neck, leaned in, and kissed him. 

Walls crumbled at the touch of Bucky’s lips to Tony’s. Desire surged between them, a wave against the shore, crashing and tumbling, remaking everything in its wake. Christ, he wanted Tony. It hit him, knocked him over, the realization that, after all these months of pretending that he didn’t. Pretending that loving Tony would have been the end of anything instead of the beginning of everything. Tony’s hand came up, curved around Bucky’s shoulder and drew him closer; they were sharing air now, each breath out the beginning of the next gasp in. The space between them was filled with their twin wanting, with the possibility. 

That one touch electrified him. With a groan, Bucky pulled Tony tighter into his embrace. Tony’s mouth claimed his, greedy and unrestrained. Bucky moved, easy, slow, backing Tony against the wall, pinning him there, plundering the eager opening of Tony’s mouth. They kissed until there was no air left, they kissed like their lives depended on it. Like the river after the dam burst, they kissed, they tangled into each other, touching and groping and reaching. Tony’s leg pressed between Bucky’s thighs and he couldn’t help it, rutting against that solid, hot, heavy weight and whimpered into Tony’s mouth. 

The feel of Tony in his arms, of that lithe, responsive body moving with his, was like drifting, like what he’d always imagined the drift would be like. Pure, tender awareness. Each caress and kiss drew new flickers of emotion from him, stoked the fire of his yearning until he was writhing with it, desperate and needy. His chest ached, too small to contain his feelings and he felt like he might burst open with it, explode from too much elation. 

Tony tugged at the edge of Bucky’s shirt, sliding his hands under the fabric, fingertips leaving little trails of sensation. “Dreamed about this,” he confessed, nipping at Bucky’s throat, at his earlobe. “Dreamed about stripping you out of your clothes, seeing you in all your bare skin and being able to touch and taste and… please, _please_ tell me I can.” 

Bucky was pretty much done for. Destroyed. He couldn’t find words, so he just nodded. It was almost painful to take his hands off Tony long enough to get the job done proper, and as it was, it involved some creative cursing, getting the neck of the shirt snagged on his hair, more mutters, and then -- holy fuck -- Tony’s mouth came down on his stomach, licking his way up Bucky’s ribs. Even as his mouth was on Bucky’s skin, setting Bucky on fire with each kiss, Tony’s clever hands were already on the fastenings of Bucky’s fly, opening it, shoving the loose work pants down his hips. Bucky braced himself on the wall as Tony helped him step out of the legs. 

He was just looking down when Tony licked a long stripe up Bucky’s cock, bringing it to sudden and full attention. Bucky keened, his hands spreading against the wall. “You are so gorgeous,” Tony murmured, tracing a line of gentle kisses along Bucky’s thigh. “Utter perfection.” 

“Tony,” Bucky gasped, head falling against his chest, watching Tony with laser intensity. “You…” 

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Tony put his mouth to work, licking, sucking, tasting. Bucky chewed his lip, biting back cries or he’d be moaning like a wanton as Tony devoured him, agonizing pleasure with each slick, wet tug. He was shaking, knees threatening to give out from under him, by the time Tony pulled back. 

“Bed?” Tony suggested, his lips swollen and shiny with saliva. 

Bucky could only nod, then rested against the wall a moment, panting. Tony squirmed out the narrow gap between Bucky’s side and the wall. “Works better if you strip, too,” Bucky suggested, panting for breath, letting himself sag against the wall. 

Tony grinned, then turned around, peeling his shirt up one tempting inch at a time. Bucky would have thought the display accidental, save for Tony glancing over his shoulder, dark eyes wide and seductive. He teased, letting the shirt reveal more and more of that olive-gold skin, turned to face Bucky just as the hem went above his nipples, paused there to let Bucky admire the view. Finally he tugged his shirt the rest of the way off and threw it aside like a dare. 

Tony’s pants were next; he unbuckled his belt, unsnapped and zipped, then started shifting his hips, perfect little thrusts as the denim slid down, slow and agonizing and Bucky couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it, couldn’t have moved if the wall caught fire, so enraptured was he in the sensual display that Tony presented, so confident and brazen and glorious. 

Bucky’s cock throbbed, feeling neglected. Bucky took himself in hand, short, slow strokes while watching Tony step out of his jeans. Tony turned again, those snake-hips working, his ass clad in tight, black undershorts. It should have been comical -- would have been, if Bucky had tried anything that blatant -- but wasn’t. There wasn’t an inch of Tony that wasn’t flat, compact muscle with just a hint of softness around his hips and a perfect, sculpted ass. 

Tony tossed a quick wink over his shoulder and strutted toward the bedroom, thighs and hips on glorious display. He ducked around the corner of the hall, leaned back to see if Bucky was watching, then dropped his shorts on the carpet, disappearing toward the bedroom. 

Bucky groaned, stroked himself a few more times, unable to resist, then followed the siren’s call of Tony. 

It didn’t take him that long to get there, but Tony was already spread out over Bucky’s unmade bed, cock in hand and stroking himself. He let a slow, dripping smile cross his lips as Bucky stuttered to a stop inside the door, just watching. “What can I say? I’m impatient.” 

Plans. Bucky had had plans for what he wanted to do with Tony, plans of what he wanted to do to Tony. Things he’d dreamed of and things he’d imagined and things to make Tony cry out with need. He took one look at that vision of masculine beauty sprawled over his bed and tossed them all out the window. 

He crawled onto the bed, cradled in the heat of Tony’s thighs, kissed him. Bucky’s hands twined in his hair, patted down his shoulders, slid over the planes of Tony’s chest like he had to constantly reassure himself that this was _real_ , that this was happening. Bucky’s hand joined Tony’s and they worked together, perfect harmony, stroking until Tony was gasping for air, his eyes round and dark and soft. Tony’s sly smirk fell of his mouth in a loud groan as Bucky tightened his grip, let friction to the work, fucked his fist over Tony’s cock, thumbing the broad, dark head. 

Tony jerked his hips up in response, moving in sinuous rhythm. “You keep that up, I’m gonna come,” Tony gasped, then threw his head back with a sharp cry as Bucky merely sped up his strokes. 

Bucky rolled them together, positioning Tony over his hips. “Come on, baby,” he said, biting at his lip. “Make a mess. Want you to.” Bucky pulled Tony closer, grabbing a handful of that perfect ass, arching up as Tony’s balls slid across Bucky’s dick. 

“Anything else you want?” Tony asked, coy and seductive, his hand never stopping as he guided and directed and encouraged Bucky’s movements. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. His eyes fluttered shut and open again, so good, he wanted to watch, and at the same time he just wanted to feel, to be lost in the darkness with Tony’s touch and mouth and cock to guide him back up to the light. “I want… wanna flip you on your knees and bend you over, want to lick that pretty hole of yours until you’re beggin’ for it. Want to bury my tongue on your ass, want to follow that up with my fingers, milk you dry. Want you to scream my name, want them to hear it at the ‘dome how good I make you feel, how much I want to fuck you.” 

Tony arched back, going off like a rocket, his mouth open with astonished pleasure. He cried out, not loud, but deep and rich and aching need, and Bucky was going to spend the rest of his life looking for that sound, duplicating it, finding all the things he could do to Tony to make him sound like that, look like that, love like that. Thick splatters of come struck Bucky’s chest, the underside of his chin, dripped down his ribs. 

Gently, Bucky helped Tony, shivering and his breathing uneven, down to the bed, tucked a pillow under his stomach. “You’re so beautiful,” Bucky murmured, kissing Tony’s back, his shoulder, down his spine, along the side of his hip. “Perfect and gorgeous and everything I ever wanted.” He dropped a kiss on Tony’s left asscheek, then sucked a red mark there, grinning as Tony moaned in response. He gripped Tony’s thighs and spread his legs slowly, then leaned down, flicked his tongue over Tony’s tight little hole. 

Tony jumped in surprise, squeaking, but Bucky didn’t stop, slowly licked up and down the crease between Tony’s cheeks, applying light pressure as he skimmed over Tony’s asshole, pausing to grin as Tony whimpered at the sensation. Tony shivered under him, uncertain, as if the gentle probing was something he didn’t know whether to back into, or squirm away from. Bucky circled Tony’s thighs with his hands, held him still, applied his tongue to the textured pucker of muscle, pressed in, using his chin to press against Tony’s perineum. 

Tony gave a strangled whimper, spreading his legs further, muscles jumping. Just the sound of his wanting sent a bolt of liquid heat into Bucky’s groin. He fucked his tongue into Tony, face buried between Tony’s asscheeks, enthusiastic and needy, swirled his tongue around, then slid the tip in and out. He added a finger to the mix, pressing Tony open and relishing the sound of his sighs. He responded, eager, to each moan and shake, eventually begging Bucky for more, to fuck him, to hurry up, to, please, please, Bucky, now… 

“Please, babe.” Tony’s voice was strung out and thready, a hitch to every word. “Please, I need you, god, now, Bucky, please, now.” 

Like Bucky could have resisted that. Like anyone alive could have. 

Bucky fumbled around in his bedside table, found the lube he used to ease his own, desperate, one-handed love affair with the image of Tony in his mind. He almost dropped it, realizing that it was real, this was really happening, Tony was undone and begging under Bucky’s hand, and every little daydream he’d ever had was going to come true, like a wish upon a falling star. He grabbed a rubber, tore the foil off and slid it on, almost losing himself just there, in that little bit of contact. 

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, then lubed his fingers. “Need to come down a notch, babe, hang on, I gotcha, I…” Bucky slid a finger into Tony, twisting and pushing in slow and easy, concentrated on breathing, counted down backward from a hundred, recited the alphabet backward, everything they’d been taught in drift-class, the things that made them compatible with each other, that tuned the mind for the tumble. 

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,” Tony said, reaching around and patting Bucky’s thigh. “So good, I’m so ready, come on, come on, ranger, fuck me.” 

“Roll over,” Bucky begged. “Wanna see you, baby, want to see your face, your perfect face.” 

Tony pushed himself up and weakly flopped over, his legs splayed open. Bucky took up position between them, lubed up the condom and rubbed the head of his cock against Tony’s open hole, teasing and light, grinning as Tony straight up cried, trying to push into it. “Come on,” he pleaded. “Don’t tease anymore, I can’t… I need you.” 

Bucky slid in, slow and hot and grabbed a handful of Tony’s hair to steady himself. Tony was so tight, hot, squeezing around Bucky’s dick as he pushed in. There was no air, even with frantic inhalations, Bucky couldn’t seem to stop panting. His heart thundered in his chest, sweat beaded along his forehead, rocking in with slow, languid motions of his hips. The friction was teasing, slow, agonizing. An epiphany in the making. When he bottomed out, at last, Bucky had to bite his lip and stop moving in order not to come at once. 

So much he’d wanted, for so long, now that he was finally getting it, he almost couldn’t take it. Tony reached up, cupped his hand around Bucky’s neck and brought him in for a deep, lingering kiss. So wrapped and entwined with each other that Bucky wasn’t sure where one of them started and the other ended, all their boundaries overrun, all their walls down. 

“Love you,” Tony said. 

Bucky twined his fingers with Tony’s, bore him down into the mattress, fucking him with short, eager strokes that had them both gasping. Bucky found the perfect angle, the perfect stroke, and he punished Tony with it, harder, faster, until Tony was screaming Bucky’s name. Bucky hooked Tony’s leg up, over his shoulder to get deeper. “Fuck, yes, Tony,” Bucky said, urgent and tender at the same time. 

Sweat dripped down the back of Bucky’s neck, he was trembling from want, body heated and slick. His fingers dug into Tony’s thigh, he leaned over, thrusting harder. “Oh, yes, yes…” Striving toward the heat and rhythm and friction that they both needed. 

Head pressed back into the mattress, Tony came again and he was fucking gorgeous, mouth open, cheeks and throat splotchy red, stomach clenching and then relaxing as he fell back. Bucky shuddered and cried out and shook apart, hovering over that glorious man, emptied himself with a shout. Watching Tony quiver and quicken under him, Bucky forgot everything else, struck hard with the emotions of loving Tony and being loved by him. 

When he came back to himself, minutes or hours later, he realized that their hands were still twined together. 

“Love you, Tony,” Bucky said. Tony muttered, shifted a little until his nose was buried against Bucky’s neck. 

“I know.” 

* * *

 

 

The next time they plugged into the sim, Bucky drifted as easy as breathing. His thoughts found Tony’s and they joined in the middle, each giving and taking, each loving and being loved. Accepting and accepted. No walls between them. No hiding. No barriers. No lies. 

They moved and thought and acted as one.

 

* * *

 

A week later, the following memo passed over Marshal Fury’s desk. 

James Buchanan Barnes: subject drift unsuitable  
Anthony Edward Stark: not recommended

Stamped over, in large red letters:

Drift Compatible  
Assigned, Malibu Shatterdome  
Jaeger, Chaos Renegade

 

**Author's Note:**

> Production Note: Chaos Renegade is the Jaeger that I designed with my best friend and co-author @everyworldneedslove
> 
> We made this off the Pacific Rim site some years ago and I wanted to use her, because she is beautiful and we will kick some Kaiju ass…


End file.
